


Seen and Not Heard

by Wind-At-Her-Heels (Countess_Eliza)



Category: Corpse Bride (2005)
Genre: Bad Parenting, Child Neglect, Emotional neglect, Gen, One Shot, Victoria Everglot Deserved Better, Victorian Attitudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:14:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28708740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Countess_Eliza/pseuds/Wind-At-Her-Heels
Summary: After reciving a new doll at Christmas, Victoria reflects on her relationship with her parents. She loved them. Surely, they must love her back.
Relationships: Victoria Everglot & Finis Everglot, Victoria Everglot & Maudeline Everglot
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	Seen and Not Heard

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time posting my work for this fandom, so if things seem a bit off that's probably why.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Surely, her parents must love her, Victoria thought as she used the clung to the railing to climb the stairs. Otherwise, they wouldn't have given her that doll she admired in the store.

  
Of course, the doll was a Christmas present and her parents weren't actually there when she ripped the paper off the box it was in. And when her mother saw her playing with the doll later that day, she said something along the lines of, "Dolls are such silly things. When I was a girl, I never bothered with them."

Victoria named the doll, Sylvia. After her mother's second name. It was pretty. Just like the doll, with her chestnut curls and purple bonnet. Her pale porcelain skin had tiny rounds of pink on the cheeks. Her eyelashes framing her emerald eyes. And her dress. Oh, Sylvia's dress was the most beautiful thing Victoria had ever seen in her entire life. Violet to match the bonnet. With lace edging the trim. Little pink roses rounded the skirt. Victoria made sure to not get Sylvia's dress dirty. Or any part of her. Every night, Sylvia went up onto a shelf. The first night Victoria had her, she considered laying the doll by her side. So Sylvia could comfort her if she had any bad dreams. And Victoria could comfort Sylvia if she couldn't fall asleep. But a thought crossed her mind right in time. What if Victoria rolled over in her sleep and crushed Sylvia? Oh no, she couldn't possibly. So Victoria, (with Hildegard's help sometimes), would place Sylvia on a shelf. Not too far away, but not too close.

The day after Christmas, after Victoria came up with the name, she rushed to the parlor where her mother was making a visit. Carrying Sylvia ever-so-gently. She slowed her pace down to a polite walk once she could hear the ladies making conversation. Victoria straightened her posture and adjusted her hold on Sylvia to present her. Her new doll would surely impress the ladies her mother was with.

"Mama!" Victoria said, upon entering, "I came up with a name for my doll." She glanced around, gaze landing on her mother, perched up high in her seat. "Would you like to hear it?"

One of the ladies, she was older with a cane under her grasp, cleared her throat. "Is this your daughter, Lady Everglot?"

The tip of her mother's nose reddened. "I'm afraid it is. My apologies. My daughter knows better than to _burst_ in on us." She threw the last phrase at Victoria.

"Her name's Sylvia," Victoria said, almost like she was making a suggestion as to what flowers they should plant this summer. Her gaze dropped to the floor.

"Please, excuse me." Her mother rose. "I need to speak with my daughter on proper etiquette."

Her mother escorted her into the hall, carefully closing the door behind her. She pinched the top of her nose. The same way she always did when she had a headache. Which, now that Victoria thought about it, was more often than not.

"Children are to be seen and not heard," her mother said, "If you were to interrupt my visit, you could at least do it quietly next time."

Victoria nodded, holding Sylvia a bit closer. "But do you like Sylvia's name?"

Her mother's scowl deepened as she looked down at the doll, her nose pointed in the air. She breathed in deeply than out. Giving Victoria the impression she had done something terribly wrong.

"Don't bother me with such silly questions," her mother said at last. Ending with a reminder not to bother her again. Her mother re-entered the parlor with an apology and an assurance that Victoria wouldn't interrupt them again.

Victoria looked towards the door for a moment. She could hear the old lady from before saying something about the weather. Apparently, that was what they talked about. It must be very important, then, if her mother and her friends, (no, not _friends_ , her mother called them _acquaintances_ ), talked about with each other. Victoria took a few steps to get to the nearest window. Holding Sylvia up a little, so she could also see too.

Cloudy skies met her gaze. Gray and cold. The remains of the storm from the day before lingered in puddles. It was a sad sight, really, but if this was what her mother talked about, then it must be important.

Victoria wandered through the halls, knowing full-on well that she would get in trouble if her parents caught her. There were only two rooms she was allowed in. Her own room and her nursery. She took her meals in the nursery at a small table in the corner. Sometimes, she could go inside the library.

For now, she dismissed the nagging at the back of her mind to go back. Victoria imagined herself as a proper lady, married to a husband she loved, carrying their daughter around their home. She folded Sylvia in her arms, the way she saw mothers holding their babies.

She relaxed her shoulders. Feeling like a lady, already. Victoria began down the stairs to the front hall. She was definitely not allowed in this part of the house. Unless, of course, there was a special occasion. Victoria and her nannies always used the side doors to get in and out.

She stepped lightly onto the marble. As if it might break under her foot. She pitched her skirt, holding it lightly in the air, for it was very long, with a train. Victoria's hair was in a dazzling bun, a few curls hanging loosely around her cheeks. She continued down the stairs with a new air of grace. An air a lady would carry about her.

"Miss Victoria!" her nanny exclaimed.

The fantasy of the gown and fancy hairdo melted away. Now she was just Victoria. With a knee-length dress and hair falling midway down her back, adorned with a bow. The blooming color palette disappeared, with only the grim colors remaining.

Victoria turned to find her nanny at the top of the stairs with a cross expression. Her knuckles rested on her hips as she tapped her foot. Victoria's cue to go back up.

"Really, what were you doing? Standing on the stairs. You know you aren't allowed to be here," her nanny scolded, as they turned down the halls, at a brisk pace, "You're lucky to have such marvelous parents, Miss Victoria. Most children your age are working day and night in factories."

Well, if her parents kept her from working in a factory, they must love her.

Even if Victoria hardly saw them.

Meals were taken alone or with her nanny or nursery maid. The afternoons were reserved for visits. In the morning, her parents did not want to be disturbed. Evenings were spent in the company of other adults.

Now that she thought about it, she couldn't recall a time her father spoke over four sentences to her. Love didn't work that way. Victoria knew. She had no evidence of this fact, but something inside her told her that. Perhaps, because she didn't have any evidence, her father spoke little to her. He was found of logic and things making sense. At least, that was how Victoria imagined her father to be like. Wise. Well-Read. He was much different when he spoke to her. His favorite subject being hunting. But there had to be another side of him. A side she never saw, but she did believe in.

Though Victoria hardly saw them, she did love them. So they must love her back. She could count almost exactly how many times she'd been hugged by her mother. Three. Those were all special times. Usually with Victoria giving the embrace. Still, three whole times. That had to mean something.

In her books, books her mother didn't like her reading, she read of families. Parents and children who loved each other very much. Of course, there was her collection of Charles Dickens, whose stories were mostly about poor orphan boys. But they had no parents. And if they did, their parents would love them very much.

Her nanny followed her into her room. Victoria placed Sylvia on a pillow, pretending again that she was her baby. Victoria sat next to her, with her hands folded in her lap. Her nanny wiped her hand across her forehead and began scolding her for leaving the quarters. Once she was done, Victoria, (she tried not to, really, she knew better to ask silly questions), burst out,

"Do my parents love me?"

Her nanny appeared taken aback. Blinking for a few seconds, as Victoria awaited her answer. Her nanny's expression twisted back into something more professional. Neat.

"I cannot say," she answered, "Do not ask me again."

Her nanny instructed her to stay in her room, citing she didn't care what she did, as long as she stayed out of trouble. Victoria picked Sylvia back up. Tracing her fine locks with a finger. How soft her hair was.

Yes, Victoria's parents had to love her. It was foolish of her to ask in the first place. They loved her and that was that.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
